Eleven's Conundrum
by TacoXI
Summary: An eleven-year-old girl appears in the TARDIS with no teleporter or any transport module, calling herself a 'reflection of a drifting past'. She believes she has come from an alternate universe, though she does not know why. Where does she, a lost girl from no time at all, really belong? And why has she found herself in the only sentient time machine in the universe?
1. Foreknowledge

The room was almost desolate; the only piece of furniture it contained was a desk. Upon the lonely wooden creation an intricate circular design had been engraved. Here, it was the sole reminder of art.

The blank white walls, unembellished purple carpeting, and the simple light fixture gave the chamber a feeling. It was an echo of despair, of knowledge and the will to use it, of patient calm, of wistful remembrance, and of emptiness. Something irreplaceable had gone, never to return, leaving behind a starved memory of itself.

In their current condition, the lodgings were not prepared to host anyone. They had retired from all tasks except existing as the last physical evidence of their former owner. Yet without that person, they were faded. Lifeless.

Yes, lifeless, but not without hope. These curious accommodations were soon to be regarded as the most remarkable out of the countless others nearby, and not because of their appearance. Rather, this sudden fame could be accounted for by the one change the place would soon undergo. It would unearth the tale of the room's fazing history, its heartbroken possessor, and her questionable sanity.

Even the hall that housed the room held some of its mystery, but naturally it also had a strangeness of its own. The corridor could not always be found where one saw it last. Nor could the dwellings inside, at least until someone claimed them. Even then they might still migrate simply because she, the structure, wished them to. The living, ever-changing vessel was, of course, the TARDIS...


	2. Chapter One

A young girl sat leaning against one of the four colourless walls of the room she occupied, her dark skin providing a perfect contrast. She stared intently at the wall across the room, and though she did so with a most concentrated stare, the dim sheen of her eyes proved that she was not interested in the wall, but rather something deep within her mind.

At last, she blinked and her vision cleared. The room in which she sat was just as frigidly abandoned as it was before her arrival, not that she knew it. She had a vague feeling that she had once known this place, but it was also obvious that something was amiss. She swiftly stood.

The unwelcoming atmosphere pressed her to leave, yet she was loathe to relinquish the quaint mood she was in. Only this room could preserve it, she knew, and a change of surrounding would almost definitely alter it beyond reparation.

Two things had not crossed her mind until she had reached the door: Where was she? Better still, who was she?

This somehow seemed irrelevant. Each time she attempted to confront herself with the questions, her rising concern was quelled by a calm inner warmth of knowledge yet unsurfaced. It was unsettling that a mere sense of confidence could keep her memories and worries at bay, but only slightly. These worries were soon banished from her mind. She did not doubt that the answers would emerge when required.

Her surroundings had removed much of her apprehension. She felt a companionship with this place, but how? Why?

The girl smiled, an expression of wonder at her own ignorance and lack of caution. She ventured out into the carpeted hallway, letting the heavy door fall shut behind her. Surprisingly, it almost failed to disturb the hospitable silence outside when it did so.

When she first headed down the corridor, her thoughts were quiet, but as the flooring faded to shining silver metal, an intense excitement welled up inside her. She grinned and quickened her pace. She was now certain that she knew this place.

Seven intersections later, she skipped down a staircase. And she froze. The sight before her sent an unexplained burst of happiness flooding through her mind. It was beautiful, it was alien, and somehow, it was home.

Just through the orange and bronze archway was a room of enormous size. The sweeping ceiling with its pearly effect and murky brown-grey color fascinated her immediately. The pattern swirled slowly as she watched, but she didn't stay immersed in it for long. Her eyes were soon pulled to another aspect of the room.

The floor at the end of the stairs was perfectly transparent, without a scratch or a smear. It was as though no one had ever stood on it. Underneath, she could see round cavities with fans inside and cables hanging listlessly nearby, but in its reflection she saw something more intriguing. She turned to look at the glowing orange walls and the evenly spaced circles upon them, but once again her attention was monopolized.

The walls curved towards the center of the room, where a grand console towered over it all. Buttons, levers, tubes, keyboards, switches, dials, and knobs of all kinds littered the surface of the thing. The girl even spotted a large horn that sprouted out from it. A clear material encased the internal machinery of it, reaching all the way up to meet the patterned ceiling. A tan seat was also visible from her vantage point, but it looked rather plain in the midst of this awesome creation of science fiction. The visitor, enthralled, reached out to touch one of the circular ornaments on the wall nearest her.

"Sorry, what?" A murmur of speech seeped into the room in an undoubtedly Scottish accent.

The girl retracted her hand and shifted her enraptured gaze to the source of the noise. An average-sized rectangular white door stood innocently at its post, but it was quite certainly the culprit. Someone was behind it, outside.

"Well, it's always a big day tomorrow. We've got a time machine. I skip the little ones." A different voice made itself known. It was a man.

"You know what I said about getting back for tomorrow morning?" The hesitant Scottish speaker paused. "Have you ever run away from something because you were scared, or not ready, or just, just because you could?"

An even longer silence followed this question, but the man spoke again, softly this time. The girl could barely hear the regret-filled answer.

"Once, a long time ago."

"What happened?" The anxious Scot asked sharply.

If there was a reply, it was not audible, but by this point the guest had decided to make a retreat. She backed up the stairs as quietly and carefully as her capabilities allowed. There would be consequences if she were to be caught in what was allegedly a 'time machine', even if she had no control over the location of her appearance whatsoever.

"Right, Doctor, there's something I haven't..."

The woman continued to speak, but one word of her loud statement had piqued the girl's interest.

Doctor.

The word was familiar in a strange way, but before a more thorough search of her patchy memory could be made, a startling rhythmic chiming that emanated from the console began without warning. It seemed this man's name was to be yet another mystery unsolved.

The girl was safely hidden behind the archway when, after an exclamation from the Scot, the white door creaked open.

A tall man wearing a tweed coat and suspenders breezed in and a red-haired girl of a lesser age darted inside behind him. The ginger closed the door, saying, "People phone you?"

The man leaped up the stairs to the console, his untidy brown hair flopping comically. He reached over a few knobs and dials, pulling a long rod out. A metallic echo resulted from this action and still the man continued the conversation easily.

"Well, it's a phone box. Would you mind?" He flicked a hand in the direction of the jangling phone.

"Wh-" The ginger began, but seemed to think better of it and instead released an exasperated breath, climbing the stairs. She plucked the phone from its perch and lifted it to her ear.

"Hello? Sorry, who? No, seriously, who?" The Scot looked incredulously to her companion, who was busily fiddling with the machinery, a smug smirk settling on his face.

"Says he's the Prime Minister. First the Queen, now the Prime Minister. Get about, don't ya?" The girl's eyebrows were raised when she said this, the phone pressed against her shoulder to muffle her voice.

"Which Prime Minister?" The man gestured to a red-handled lever near the ginger, so she put a hand on it and made to pull it down, looking to him for approval. He nodded and another glance from him spurred the girl on. She lifted the phone once more.

"Er, uh, which Prime Minister?" She held the phone against her shoulder again, telling the man, "The British one."

"Which British one?" He asked, as though this was an obvious question.

The ginger asked eagerly of the person on the phone, "Which British one?" Her face registered disbelief, and then with the calm of someone who has reached the maximum of strangeness for the day and has finally decided to let things go unquestioned, she offered the device to her friend. "Winston Churchill for you." The man looked mildly surprised and accepted the phone.

"Oh! Hello, dear. What's up?" He seemed pleased with whatever the answer was.

Idly he flipped a switch on the console as he spoke again, his smile growing by the moment.

"Don't worry about a thing, Prime Minister."

He looked up at the ginger knowingly.

"We're on our way."


	3. Chapter Two

The Doctor slapped the phone down and danced merrily around the magnificent column of controls, stretching an arm out to the largest lever of all. He yanked it down with a flourish while Amy laughed, incredulous.

The hidden girl barely poked her head around the archway but could plainly see the gentle glow of the console as a creaking noise echoed through the whole room. No, the console itself wasn't glowing. The shafts came mostly from the ceiling, illuminating the console below; they were like sunbeams shining through a skylight. It seemed to have been triggered by the movement of the lever.

The strained, creaking background noise became louder, echoing through her head. It seemed to rebound off every surface in the room and swallow any thoughts the girl had begun to harbor without meeting much resistance at all. She didn't want it to stop, either, no matter how intrusive it was. And she didn't know why.

Far too soon, the sound faded. The overexcited Doctor pivoted on his heels to say something to Amy, but she was walking away already.

"Where are you going?"

Amy froze and spun around to look at her friend. "I'm not going to meet the Prime Minister like this." She fingered a strand of her sticky hair. "And in my nightie." Raising an accusing eyebrow, she smirked. "Of course, _you _would, wouldn't you?"

He looked confused for a moment, but soon recovered. "No. Yes. That-"

Amy cut him off with a roll of her eyes. "Back in a bit," she said, and headed up the stairs.

The Doctor blinked with a somewhat startled expression—as seemed typical of him in any situation—before turning away from the stairs, busying himself with something on the console. The girl shifted in her position. She was tempted to leave, but what if the stranger in the adjoining room heard her? She swallowed at this thought. He would discover her existence soon, yet perhaps now was a little _too _soon. What would she say? She couldn't explain-

"Doctor?"

The ginger poked her head around the corner of the doorway she'd disappeared inside. The girl shrank back into her alcove to avoid being spotted, continuing to watch the exchange between the two travelers. At the center of the room, the man in question turned with an expectant expression.

"You keep clothes in here, right?"

"Well...yes," the Doctor replied. He didn't seem to take the hint.

Amy sighed and rearranged her stance, a trace of annoyance on her face and in her voice.

"Then where are they?"

"Oh. Ah, just a minute."

He faced the console once again, grabbed a screen-like monitor, and pulled it towards him. Clicking various buttons, he answered without looking up.

"To the left, down the hall twenty feet, in the closet on the right, up the ladder, and then down the slide a few steps after the gargoyle."

Amy's face displayed her doubt, reflecting the girl feelings quite well. And there was something else. It was a troubled expression resembling something like disgust, though she had no idea what it could mean.

"Why the slide?" Amy glanced down at her less-than-white nightie.

The strange man, still preoccupied, murmured, "Why not? I like a slide...slides are cool."

The redhead shrugged. One last uncertain glance at the Doctor and she had left, going down the right-side hallway. The girl observed as she came back into view at the top of the staircase again. She looked mildly embarrassed but continued on her way in the correct direction. The Doctor never saw her, for he was too engrossed in the monitor's information. Whatever that was.

It was definitely time to leave. The outsider was getting cramped from her uncomfortable crouched position; her knees didn't appreciate it either. She needed to withdraw quickly and quietly. Then she could hide in one of the numerous rooms to make a plan.

Carefully, ever so carefully, she stood.

_Crack, creak..._

The girl was doing what she could to maintain the near silence of the room, but her legs protested with every move she made. Somehow this place was enhancing the sounds she made, or so it seemed.

She set her jaw, straightened completely, and then froze. The stranger just through the doorway might suspect he had heard something after that series of not-so-normal sounds. Though she couldn't see him at the moment, the girl could imagine how he might have looked up from the machinery and stared at the archway where she was concealed. Silent, she remained frozen for a few moments longer.

The moments passed, and there was no outstanding sound from any direction, no indication that anyone had heard her. Good. She would be fine as long as her journey down the hall presented no problems. Surely she could escape to the depths of the ship without colliding with Amy. She was glad to know the location of the exit despite the fact that the likelihood of finding it again was slim; still she felt that while making a getaway was a priority, there was something she had to do first.

The girl padded down the hall and towards a doorway leading to a path she hadn't yet explored. How she planned to get where she wished to go was simple.

No doubt the ship was alive. It didn't seem an absurd concept to her that this was possible, though others would not have come to that conclusion. It just felt that way. After all, one simply does not stumble upon an important landmark in a massive structure such as this by coincidence or aimless wandering. She had been brought here because someone knew her purpose: that same someone who had neglected to notify the 'Doctor' of her intrusion. That seemed an important point to keep in mind. She was protected for the time being.

And so, for the time being, she could look for the reason she was here. The ship knew. If the ship knew, then the ship could take her where she needed to be. That was what she was counting on.

She walked on until the walls narrowed to a long, dark corridor, and there she stopped. It wasn't just a shadowy corridor, but also the walls themselves were dark, made of what appeared to be a form of black glass. The girl shivered. The place was familiar, and it bothered her. Why was this something she recognized? Why _this_?

As she headed the chosen hallway, she noticed another aspect of the place that differed from the rooms she had seen before: there were paintings, unevenly spaced along the walls, each large and extremely detailed. After that, the similarities were few and far between, for none of the paintings were of the same colour or nature.

Each depicted a different, lifelike scene— snow laden mountaintops encircled by a small village; a jungle where every plant glistened with dewdrops; tawny sands of a desert with but a single abandoned lean-to, its ragged door a faded strip of cloth on the verge of being whisked away by the winds— though each belonged to the same artist. That much was clear, and it fascinated the girl to find herself confronted by something so coincidental yet so organized.

She moved closer to the painting before her, and then she began to feel the unusual effects of entering the room. With nearly every step she took, the air became more dull, more heavy. This part of the ship lacked the life of the main room, the room that was all light and warmth and soul.

_Dead._

Here it felt dusty and grey, whether any real dust was present. Here, the pictures were the only lively thing aside from herself, somehow.

The girl's chest felt constricted and her head gave far-off, aching pangs. She opened her mouth to breathe in more deeply, but it didn't make a difference. The air was stagnant, so very thick in her lungs. Her heartbeat wasn't strong, yet she could feel it. She could sense her very presence in this room. The only other thing that was alive, at least to her instincts, was the paintings, and that was just another thing that made them strange.

Oh, yes. The paintings. Why were they hidden in a place they couldn't, or rather, shouldn't be found? Why were they not elsewhere, where they could be seen?

These unearthly pieces of art were a part of her, she knew. She had seen what needed to be seen and she didn't want to be near it anymore: she had to leave.

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Not too long after she had pried herself from that strange, strange corridor, the girl had found herself drifting almost mindlessly through the halls. Thankfully, these halls were the way they should be, and they formed a path of their own liking for the visitor to walk upon. She soon arrived at a rather magnificent mahogany set of doors; they were well-oiled and easy enough to open. Once the girl peeked inside the room they had shielded, she inhaled without thinking. She was awestruck and completely in love. In her mind, who wouldn't be?

This chamber was, if possible, more grand than the console room. Shelves and shelves and shelves— she could look up at the wooden railings on every level, all the way to a ceiling as distant as the sky— of books filled it. Massive tapestries of deep blues, browns, and reds hung on the walls, and in the shadowy corners nearby, she saw luxurious chairs, beanbags, and simple cushions lying about, waiting for company. Though she didn't understand how it could possibly work, she could see that the muted lighting here came from the stars on the ceiling, which she could barely see at this distance.

The girl didn't know who she was or if she had ever even been _anyone_, but just then it didn't matter. This was her version of heaven. And, when an idea darted through her head, she was reminded that this 'Doctor' bloke didn't know she was here. On one hand, he might be a bit miffed to find a stowaway making the best of his library, but on the other, was he really going to look? She decided to trust the ship to keep her hidden for a little while longer.

Just as the girl, smilingly, slipped inside the library and shut the doors, she saw someone else emerging from an aisle on the far right. It was the ginger, Amy. She was holding a book and was so focused on it she hadn't seen the ship's guest. The girl concealed herself behind a shelf of what a quick glance showed were French murder-mysteries (she hadn't been previously been aware so many of them existed). Then she watched.

* * *

Amy didn't hear anything or see anything out of the usual, or rather, what the usual had now become, but still. There was a...a feeling. Like a whisper of someone's presence, like a dark figure darting by, just in the corner of her eye. There was nothing, no one, _of course_, she thought with no small measure of relief. She had quite enough of antisocial shapeshifting saber-toothed snakes and, regardless, wasn't eager to meet anything that would choose to live in shadows. Those things, the things that were willing to remain silent, unseen, and alone—she had always felt that things such as those saw _all_, no matter the walls that might separate them from her.

She shuddered. It was definitely time to head back to the console room, since she was finished showering and had a change of clothes. It had nothing to do with the sudden thoughts of darkness. Nothing at all.

Replacing the book, Amy left the library with brisk steps.


End file.
